


Summer of 1977

by ApplePieAndHotChicks



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-10 10:11:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ApplePieAndHotChicks/pseuds/ApplePieAndHotChicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Gacy is a Junior in the Summer of 1977 and meets a few new friends on the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to my beta reader fa-subito on tumblr.

It was a hot and balmy Tennessee summer this year.

Chris Gacy was going to be a senior in just a few months and she was full of anticipation. Chris was a fairly bright student but didn’t take many advanced classes because stress wasn’t ‘her forte’ as she had attempted to explain to her parents before hastily hiding her report card. That didn't go over every well but that was a story for a different time.

This year (and the next) automotive and construction with her core classes. She considered herself ‘above average’, at least fairly so. Everyone had their strengths, and anything hands-on were Chris’s.

Only a few more months until summer vacation, thank the Lord or whatever divine being that sat up there, and then after that she would officially be a senior.

It was about midway through the second semester when Chris spotted a boy sitting alone in her lunch period. He was sitting in a far corner of the lunch room with his face stuck in a book.

Chris walked up to him, “Hey, you okay?” She asked carefully.

She had never seen him before; maybe he was new or maybe he was just really good at hiding. Maybe he was new, and good at hiding. But what a catch, how could he be hiding? The boy looked up with soft, brown eyes that shone through his longish hair. He nodded.

“What are you reading?” She asked, sitting across from the boy as if he was an old friend she just met up with after years of being apart.

“It’s Julius Caesar. I apparently have to read it for lit…” He paused and looked down as if he was nervous.

“I don’t really get it” He showed her the page he was on, pointing out a very long monologue, “It’s the words; they don’t make sense and the footnotes barely help.” He looked back down on the page, pretending to read it but doing a poor job at hiding his confusion.

Chris nodded, “Yeah, I totally get what you mean. Shakespeare is hard because of his diction but that’s it…oh, I’m Chris, by the way.” She grinned at him.

“I’m Sam.” He replied in a hushed tone not taking his eyes from the page. He seemed nervous, and his palms were sweating, revealing that nervousness. Chris inwardly laughed and pretended not to notice.

“Hey,” Chris pressed, leaning forward as if she was about to tell some juicy gossip, “Are you new here?” Sam nodded, “You know, if you ever need help with school work, I would be more than happy to help.” She exaggerated her eye-role, to which Sam snickered, “I mean I would be more than happy to help because I really don’t do anything after school; I have no life.”

Sam scoffed and leaned back. It was one of the first times Sam actually looked up to make eye contact, “I guess you can come over to the house tonight.”

Oh, boy, would Sam love to take a girl home and boy, oh, boy would Dean be impressed at this. Sam taking a girl, an older girl and an actually pretty girl home. Granted, it was for studying but it was bringing a girl home nonetheless. It still counted. Act cool, Sam, he thought to himself, just act cool.

Sam smiled inwardly, Chris was a pretty girl.  
She was a different kind of pretty; a kinda of home grown pretty you see down the isles at the supermarket and then you go back to get a better look at her but then she's gone.

Sam wrote down his address and slid it to Chris.

“Will your parents be okay with bringing an almost-complete stranger home?”

“Uh,” Sam shuffled in the hard, plastic bench, “My dad will be out but my big brother will be home but he won’t mind. He’s cool; I think you’ll like him.”

The bell rang. It was a god forsaken cowbell. Welcome to the south, ya’ll.

Chris slipped the piece of paper in her breast pocket, “Hey, I’ll come over about 45 minutes after school, is that cool?”

Sam nodded for probably the fifth time, “Yeah, perfect time.”

Chris hurried home that afternoon. When she came home, she saw her mother on the sofa smoking a cigarette; she raised a thin eyebrow at her daughter.

“Why do you look so peppy?”

Her mother almost sounded sour. She was a poorly paid hair dresser who spent most of her paychecks on cigarettes, why would she not be sour about life?

“I have to go to a friend’s house to help tutor,” she said, it wasn’t a real lie.

She did have to go over and help a kid with some homework but he wasn’t exactly a friend.

“I have to leave soon.”

Chris at least knew where their house was, it was just a walking distance away but she had to cross the highway to get there. She glanced at the clock on the wall; she had to leave in about ten minutes if she wanted to be there on time.

Her mother nodded and rolled her cold, blue eyes and took another long drag, “Your father will be home soon,” her mother managed to cough out.

Chris’s father was a deputy and an alcoholic, it was a miracle he kept a government job. Her father was a tall, thick man, with a beard he desperately needed to shave but refused to do so. Chris’s mother was addicted to nicotine. She had large bags under her eyes, he teeth were yellowed and her hair was already falling out. Sometimes, when her dad got home, her parents would argue. Chris would lock her door out of fear and would listen to the sounds of them screaming and the sounds of things being thrown. Chris suspected there to be physical abuse but she never looked into it out of fear. Both her parents were alive only by God’s mercy.

“I’ll only be out for an hour or two,” Chris yelled from her room. She was stuffing a bag with paper and pencils and snacks. She put a water bottle in there and then walked back into the living room and grabbed her keys,

“I’ll be back soon, mom. Tell dad I said hi.” And she was out.

It was raining lightly so Chris pulled her hood up and began to pedal out of her subdivision.

Chris rode her bike to Sam’s house.

It took about ten minutes to arrive at Sam’s house. It was dirty and it was obvious they recently moved in, too. Chris knocked on the door quietly. The whole scene looked like it came out of a really bad horror movie from the 60s; it gave her the creeps.

The door swung open with a screaming creak and Sam was on the other side, “Oh, hey, you’re here,” He said with a smile, “I almost expected you not to show.” Sam said almost sadly, gestured her to come inside. Chris assumed Sam didn’t have many friends.

The house smelled like mold and mildew with a slight hint of alcohol. It almost made her gag but she managed to suppress it, “So, Sam,” She followed him to a couch. It was a deep, navy blue; the upholstery was falling off and the cushions looked like they had greasy ass prints in them. Disgusting but Chris still sat on it because Sam was going to be a friend, and friends don’t care where you live or how you live, “What should we do first?”

Sam pulled out a binder that was stuffed to the brim with papers, “Can you help me with my math homework,” He pulled out a half sheet of paper with only five questions on it about the quadratic formula, “I understand it but for some reason I keep getting the questions wrong, I don’t understand.”

“Sure, Sam,” Chris fished through her bag and pulled out a pencil.

Chris helped him the best she could, only took half an hour for that tiny math session until Sam smiled this cheesy giant smile and said, “Hey, Dean!”

Chris turned around to see a tall guy with short brown hair walk into the room. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his grimy pants hung loosely around his waist like a private party that she wasn’t invited to and he had an open beer bottle in his large hand, “Hey, Sammy,” Dean ruffled Sam’s hair, “Is this the girl you were talking about.” Dean winked at Chris and smirked, “She’s pretty. Maybe you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“Excuse me,” Chris retorted and stood up, facing Dean, “but I think you need to rephrase that.” Chris shifted her weight and placed a thin hand on her right hip.

“Come on, baby,” He purred, leaning forward, breathing on her, “Loosen up. We don’t bite.” He smelled like something burnt mixed with beer and cologne. It was intoxicating; Chris was unsure if she liked or disliked the smell.

Chris rolled her eyes, turned away and sat back down next to Sam, “Ready for act two of Caesar?” Chris picked up the script that was lying on the coffee table in front of them and thumbed through it.

She noticed Dean was still staring at them as if they were a piece of meat in a butcher shop window, “You can take part if you wish,” she mentioned in forced cheer.

Dean scoffed but sat down next to Chris nonetheless, “Sure, whatever.” He groaned, leaning back, his thigh was pressed next to her own.

Chris smiled, “Goodie. Ah, would you like to read the part of Brutus? I think you’ll like him.” Dean gave an ugly face but picked up the text anyway.

“What, Lucius, ho! What the hell does this mean.”

“Brutus is calling for this dude named Lucius. Just keep reading.”

“I cannot, by the progress of the stars, give me how near Lucius…” Dean read slow and unsure of himself but for good reason. He sounded not-very-intelligent; to put it bluntly. It took longer than it should have since Dean was reading but it was probably good for Sam and Dean to interact like this. Good brother bonding time.

At least an hour later, the end of act two came to a close. Chris was reading the part of Portia, “Say I am merry: come to me again. And bring me word what he doth say to thee. So, Sam, what did you think of act two?” Chris looked over her shoulder to see Sam but he was fast asleep on the couch. His head was lulled over the other side of the arm and his soft, little snores filled every corner and fissure of the room, “Huh,” Chris cooed as she closed the book, brushing some of the hair plastered to Sam’s forehead behind his ear, “Guess he got bored, huh?”

Dean rubbed his eyes and placed the script on the coffee table in front of them, “Yeah, guess so,” He paused to stretch and yawn, “Sam was really excited that you were coming over, by the way.”

Chris looked away and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t blushing, swear to god, she wasn’t, “Oh, really?” She squeaked.

Dean nodded, “Yeah. I don’t think I caught your name?”

“Chris,” She replied, holding out her thin hand, “Chris Gacy.”

Dean took her hand in his own, “Chris? Is that short for Crystal or Christina or..”

Chris shook her head, “Nope. My dad really wanted a boy and of course, I’m a girl so he just decided to name me Chris.” Now Chris was blushing. Her male name and boyish looks always opened Chris up to be bullied to no end. Chris has a square jaw and had a face that made her look like she could beat the shit out of someone. Her voice was quiet and deep and had a solemn ring to it when she spoke. Of course, her tiny chest didn’t help the situation, either.

“I think it’s cute,” Dean said while getting up, “It’s getting late…Would you like a ride home?”

Chris took a glance out the window to see it was getting late. The sun was already taking a final bow before the curtain closed on it, “Oh, I guess I’ve stayed beyond my welcome,” She stuttered while picking up her papers and books, “I rode my bike, so don’t worry about it.”

“No, it‘s still rainin’” Dean walked down the hall into what Chris assumed was his room, “Let me get my keys, you can put your bike in the back of the truck.” Dean was in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head when he came back into the living room, “Come on.”


	2. That Girl Named Gacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> P.S. Dean thinks your pretty.  
> P.P.S Sam is stupid, don’t listen to him.

Dean began to pull up into Chris’s cracked driveway. He was driving an old, beaten up pick-up. It resembled there house in a way; smelled like alcohol and was somewhat of a mess.

Dean mentioned the paint chipped, red truck was a rental and how they normally drove an Impala but their dad was using it at the time.

“If your Chevy ever breaks down,” Chris said as he parked, “I can fix her up for you.”

“Really?” Dean eyed her and gave her a look of doubt but laughed nonetheless.

She nodded and smirked, “Quite the auto-mechanic, if I do say so myself.”

Chris’s bike was laying out in the bed of the truck. And once Dean was parked, she unlocked the passenger door to retrieve it, “Thanks for the ride, Dean,” she exited in one fluid motion. Dean couldn‘t help but notice how smooth her motions were, they almost looked practiced, “I really appreciate it.”

Dean was busy getting out of the car as well, but he wasn‘t as graceful. Not even close, “You know, I’m sure you think I’m a jerk?” He stated matter of factly while pulling Chris’s bike out of the truck bed. 

Chris’s pale lips pursed, “One might say I think differently now” She laughed and walked up the sidewalk beside Dean. 

Dean leaned the bike on the siding of the house after they walked up the porch side by side, “Would you like to come in?” Chris suggested.

“I shouldn’t,” He said, “I’d hate to bother you more.” 

“Oh, please.” Chris cooed as she unlocked the screen door, “Here, let me show you some good ole fashion southern hospitality.” She held the door open for Dean and ushered him inside, “Come on, we have a jug of lemon aide and a jug of sweet tea; got a preference?”

“Uh,” Dean eyed around the tiny flat. No one was to be seen. It was a baron place but somewhat welcoming in an eerie sort of way. It had dark green carpeting and coffee brown walls. The couch in the living room was a tan color and worn and the tables had water stains on it, “Tea, I guess.” 

In reality, Chris’s father was dead asleep in the master bedroom and probably wouldn’t wake up till noon tomorrow while Chris’s mom was out in the back yard smoking and wouldn’t come inside for 2 more hours or until her pack run dry.

“’atta boy,” Chris said as she brought him a glass and gestured for him to sit on the couch, “Pop a squat.” Dean obeyed and sat which made the ice cubes in the tall glass of tea clink and clatter against the cup. 

Chris was an odd girl for sure. Not like a ‘I actually keep dead bodies of young boys I murdered under my floors’ kinda odd. Now that Dean thinks about, her last name was that of an actual serial killer. And now that Dean thinks about it, the serial killer that shared her last name did kill boys and did actually hide them under the crawlspace of his house. Chris probably wasn’t like that. Probably.

They sat there for a half an hour. Talking about irrelevant things like automobiles, the latest movies, even a little bit of politics. Chris was somewhat fond of Dean. He was a different but different was good. 

They held a lot in common, too. They both enjoyed old western movies and classic rock and nice cars.

At last, Dean finally finished his drink and sat it on the coffee table in front of him, “Ah…” He said as he got up and stretched, “I should go. Sammy gets lonely, you know?” He cocked and eyebrow and shifted his weight slightly.

Chris nodded slowly, “I understand.” She didn’t want Dean to run off. She liked listening to him. Even enjoyed watching his tough fingers clasp the glass or thrum against his knee. Chris was utterly enthralled by Dean in every way.

“Good night, Chris.”

“’Night.” She smiled and waved, shuffling awkwardly on her boney legs. Then, Dean suddenly leaned down and kissed her on the cheek, winked, and walked out of the door as if nothing had happened.

Their after school meetings occurred almost everyday after school. Chris would bike over, help Sam with his homework, then Dean would throw her bicycle in the back of the rental truck and drive her home. Most of the times, Dean wouldn’t stay over but every once in a while, they would sit out on the porch swing with nothing to say. 

One day, after all the exams had taken place, Chris biked over to the Winchester’s home. 

The pick up truck wasn’t there; on the door was a note.

Dear Chris,

Look, we’re sorry for running out but we had to move. It’s personal. Trust me, you don’t wanna know. But we’re sorry. I’m going to miss you and Sammy, well, he’s gonna miss you a lot too. I know you don’t understand why we had to move but we just did. I wrote our cell number on the back of this letter. 

Sincerely, Dean and Sam.

P.S. Dean thinks your pretty.  
P.P.S Sam is stupid, don’t listen to him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No one knows to be sure,” Her blues eyes drifted away from Dean’s gaze for a moment but flitted back as if she just remembered they are sharing a conversation, “The P.D. found him. He was gutted out but oddly enough his internal organs were liquefied. P.D. said it was a freak accident, that perhaps a chemical reaction happened in his gut.” Chris said and pushed some of the stay hairs out of her face, “I didn’t believe it, not one bit.” Dean snorted at her, “So I did some research around the community. Long story short, most of the officers in the P.D. were hunters along with my dad.”

“I know you probably don’t remember me,” A small girl, who almost looked emaciated was standing in the doorway. Her hair was frazzled, her limbs lanky and her eyes were a deep blue that held a tired expression that made Dean want to yawn, “But I remember you,” The girl, who was probably in her mid 30s took a few careful, planned steps forward as if Dean was a rabid raccoon or something dangerous. The poor girl looked like she would fall into comatose at any second. Even though she was fairly young, she looked almost weathered, in a way. Kinda sad how someone who probably wasn’t older than 35 could have an air of being old.

Dean’s brow knit together in confusion, “Pardon?”

She chuckled sadly and looked down, “I knew you wouldn’t recognize me. I am Chris. Chris Gacy.” She gestured to the ratty couch Dean was sprawled across, “Mind if I sit?”

“Sure, of course.” Dean said quickly and scooted over. The couch squeaked in protest. Chris’s hair hung just below her shoulders and swayed at each step. She was a thin woman, and small breasted. Probably only a hundred pounds at the most.

Chris perched herself on the edge of the cushion; her movements mimicked that of a meth addict by the way she shuffled and scratched herself in nervousness, “Do you remember my name, Dean?”

His lips pursed as he searched for a name, “Vaguely. I remember it was a very long time ago…” Dean lied. He didn’t remember. She did look familiar but he’s seen so many faces over the years and moved around so much too, that his life was a blur.

Chris nodded, “Yeah, about fifteen years ago. Sam was still in high school, I believe it was around the time you dropped out. It was in Tennessee?” Chris tried to jog his memory, leaning closer to him.

“Yes!” Dean replied in slow excitement, partially trying to make the woman happy but in reality he was beginning to remember this Chris girl, “I do remember. Sammy and I and Dad ended up staying down there for a few months so Sam could finish a grade and that’s how you and Sam met, right?”

“And then I would come over and help him with his math homework and his chemistry homework,” Chris then laughed. A real laugh this time, one of those quiet but legitimate laughs you probably only hear four or five times in your life, “And sometimes I would read to him, I remember reading ‘Caesar’ to him. He loved it because I would make different voices for each character and I would sometimes act it out. Do you remember?”

Dean did remember. He would watch as Chris would stand up, holding the script, and saying the lines in a perfect accent and she would use the room and prance and romp around, acting it out with such passion. Sometimes Dean would help read, he wasn’t as good as Chris though, some of the words tripped him up but he still tried, “Yeah, Sammy loved it. He passed with flyin’ colors that year thanks to you.”

There was a long, pregnant pause but suddenly Chris whispered, “I missed you, Dean. I’ve missed Sam as well…I’ve been worried about you two.”

“Nothing to be worried about,” Dean replied lethargically, as if he was testing his words as he spoke them. It’s been like fifteen years, why would some girl he knew for only a few   
months be worried about them, let alone remember them?

“Dean,” Chris bit. She was a soft girl but her anger seeped through the thin cracks of her outward appearance, “I know about…most of the things,” Dean’s head cocked to the side, “I know Sam is sick and I know about a lot of things you and your brother have done.”

“How did you find out,” Dean shot her a hard look. Probably Chuck or something.

“Another story for another time but let’s say I know how to use the internet and I have, well, connections,” She said looking the other way as she ran a hand through her messy brown hair that looked like it needed a condition desperately, “Look, Dean,” She shook her head and blinked once. Twice, “I just came to thank you.”

“What for?” He scoffed, picking up the sweating beer that was sitting adjacent to him on a small table but he didn’t drink out of it. He needed something to do with his hands desperately. 

A small chuckle escaped Chris’s pale lips, “Saving the world, saving lives, you know. For everything.” Chris scooted closer to Dean and placed a hand on his knee. Dean couldn’t help but notice how her hand looked. Her palm was small but she had long boney fingers, her finger nails were painted a deep red too. Green and purple tinted veins danced across the tiny bones in her hand like low rivers in a drought, “I know it probably don’t mean much of anything to you, Dean, but I’m proud of you.”

Dean jerked his leg away in reflex. Hearing those words made him uncomfortable thus he pretended he didn’t hear them, “So, how did you even find us?” He said trying to change the subject.

“Sam.” She said suddenly, “A few days ago ya’ll were out on a run and you apparently left him outside on a bench and I saw him.”

“What are doing on the way up here?” 

Chris turned away, “I’m, well, looking for a job.”

“All they way out here?”

“Let’s just say I’m very desperate. Very in need of a job.” She peered at Dean from under her hair, “I’ve been living out of my car for a few months now.”

Dean knew what that was like. Living on the road, sleeping in the back seat, you’re only friends being the early morning radio talk-show host and the occasional cop that would pull you over, “What about your parents?”

She scoffed, “My mother, she passed.”

“I’m sorry…” He whispered back.

“She died of cancer. But she was a smoker. She had lung, throat and mouth cancer. It wasn’t a surprise she died, really. Don’t console me,” Chris laughed. Her mother’s death was a few years ago. The shallow, emotional wounds had already healed.

“What about your dad? Isn’t he a deputy?”

“That’s what he told me,” Chris leaned in close to Dean’s ear, “But it was one giant web of lies he told me for years.”

“A lie?” 

Chris nodded which made her thick hair tickle Dean’s temple and ear. He tried not to jerk away when Chris’s warm, wet breath caressed the shell of his ear, “He was a hunter.”

Dean swallowed hard and tried to play dumb, “Did he hunt big game or what?”

“If monsters counted as big game, then yes,” Chris leaned back again, thankfully, “I didn’t believe him at first. Sure didn’t. I thought all the years of drinkin’ finally caught up to him but he wasn’t lying. He was like you and Sam.”

“Like me and Sam,” He repeated absentmindedly, “So, is your dad still-”

Chris cut him off abruptly, “No, he also passed.”

It was Dean’s turn to lean forward now, “How did he die?”

“No one knows to be sure,” Her blues eyes drifted away from Dean’s gaze for a moment but flitted back as if she just remembered they are sharing a conversation, “The P.D. found him. He was gutted out but oddly enough his internal organs were liquefied. P.D. said it was a freak accident, that perhaps a chemical reaction happened in his gut.” Chris said and pushed some of the stay hairs out of her face, “I didn’t believe it, not one bit.” Dean snorted at her, “So I did some research around the community. Long story short, most of the officers in the P.D. were hunters along with my dad.”

“Wonder why he never told you,” Dean mused out loud.

“Wanted to protect me and my mom. Well, that’s my assumption.” Chris replied, “Didn’t want me to live that life.”

“Smart man,” Dean grinned but the smile soon left his face, “Being a hunter isn’t pretty. Promise you. Your daddy was wise.”

Chris nodded, “Guess so…”

Another long pause drowned out the two, “So, you’re still out of a job?”

“Yes.”

“Still living out of your car?”

“Mhm.”

Dean got up and stretched. He raised his arms far above his head, making his elbows and shoulders pop. He sighed happily, “How about you just stay here till you get on your feet?”


End file.
